Sport on TV: Live Sepp show eclipses the cock-eyed spectacular

"Exit, pursued by a chicken," sounds like a stage direction from one of Shakespeare's lesser-known comedies, perhaps one composed during the dark early days in Stratford when he was overdoing the mead. But it was in fact the fate of Franz Beckenbauer during the World Cup Draw (BBC2). The French seem determined to prove that, despite the many grosseries of USA 94, the Americans do not have a monopoly on bad taste. Or perhaps they are learning quickly from EuroDisney.

The creature concerned, a six-foot red, white and blue rooster, is called Footix, and will be the official mascot of the tournament next summer. Which means we will have to get used to him. Barry Davies, commentating on the draw, described the fowl somewhat bemusedly as "a cross between Asterix and Obelix", but since both the celebrated cartoon Gauls are theoretically human it is difficult to see how they could between them have bred a cockerel. Unless something unusually toxic got into the magic potion one night. Footix seems more likely to be a by-product of the French fondness for nuclear power, having perhaps pecked at his corn as a chick a little too close to a throbbing reactor.

Whatever his antecedents, Footix spent most of the ceremony on Thursday night chasing world famous footballers off the stage in Marseilles once they had done their bit with the ball - a little plastic ball, that is, not the real thing. For the Fifa organisers had decreed that the all- important names should be inscribed on little bits of paper enclosed in garish little spheres a bit like space-age Easter eggs. Perhaps Footix had laid them backstage before things got under way. So what if he is male? A chicken that can frighten Beckenbauer is surely capable of anything.

Sepp Blatter refused to be upstaged by these avian antics, as befitting a man with an ego the size of a planet. Beaming genially as if born to the role of television presenter, Blatter conducted the draw as if he were conducting an orchestra, summoning great players of the past with one hand, beckoning stars of the present with the other, and with a deft twist of the fingers deciding the destinies of the stars of the future.

All the while Davies kept up a dignified commentary spiced with just enough information to keep the viewers clued-up about the endless comings and goings on stage without delving too far into his trivia file. Presumably the decision to send Davies rather than John Motson was kind in the end. Presented with so many opportunities for irrelevant detail, Motson may have peaked too soon and self-destructed in a hail of shredded notebooks and car-coat fur. Better to keep him on ice until the actual football starts.

Speaking of which, the weather conditions a couple of hours after sundown in Marseilles make it a less than ideal location for a lengthy outdoor performance that involves a lot of standing around. When Davies described the venue as "the oldest city in France" he might easily have added an initial "c" to the adjective.

The chilly weather, which might have threatened the appendages of a brass monkey, happily did not freeze the balls in their perspex bowls. But it did mean that the players representing the countries in the tournament had to keep well wrapped up on stage. Many arrived with overcoats draped over their arms, but put them on to sit down. The unavoidable impression was of a crowd of people who would rather be somewhere else.

England's representative on stage, Paul Ince, had a novel solution to the problem. While all the other players had changed into smart suits or at the very least blazers after their exertions in the friendly game before the draw, Ince marched on stage in a nice warm track-suit. He was also wearing a fetching grin, and it was easy to forgive the man his sartorial faux pas for his evident pride and enjoyment of the occasion.

Ince gave the crowd a cheery wave, but managed to restrain himself from leaping into the air when England's opponents were magicked from the balls by Blatter. This was wise, for elation at seemingly soft opponents can often turn out to be misguided. Or, as they put it en France, don't count your chickens before they have turned into gigantic mutants and pecked you to death.

Back in the studio with Desmond Lynam, Jimmy Hill also struggled manfully to withhold his glee, not so much at England's draw but with Scotland being bracketed once more with Brazil. But being Jimmy, he could not resist the temptation to make a prediction or six. "In five of the groups you could say, 'I can tell you who can qualify'... in England's case, provided nothing extraordinary happens, they should qualify." So, in the highly likely event of something extraordinary happening and England failing to qualify, we should all remember whose fault it was. It's useful to have a scapegoat sorted out so far in advance.

With its celebrity-studded cast, elaborate set and whizzy video graphics, the draw fitted admirably into the tradition of such gripping international broadcasts as The Eurovision Song Contest. But for all of Footix's antics, this was no laughing Blatter.